Prague is a medieval city crowned by the halo of communism—faded tricolored tenements circumscribe the historic quarters. Without, thick forests and lush rolling fields of green.

Atop a hill lies the architectural patina that is Prague Castle, overlooking the Vltava-lascerated Bohemian city. At its heart is St. Vitus Cathedral, a juggernaut of flying buttresses—I still hear the girl that asked her father to explain what these were. Had he an answer? I no longer recall.

From here, below unfolds the glistening sea of orange that is the constellation of rooftops of the city-proper. It is an all-too-aesthetically pleasing sight as is that of the apposite sun; after months in Belfast, one begins to fall under the deranged delusion that every place lacks sun.

I can’t believe what God has done
He tooked the heat out of the sun
And now it seems the world is growing colder

As for what lies below the superficies, neat and preened blocks of brilliant pastels give way to those that show the wear and tear of the master of all things — pommelling time.

Soon these relics will give way to progress, just as some of the faded-red trams have been superseded by brilliant neon-red ones. And surely, they go faster and are safer.

However, what will stick in the dell of my memory will not be the ancient buildings or the fact that Prague is an historic city, but the incredibly delicious sushi I had at The SushiBar, which would be somewhere in between the culinary antipodes of Fuki Sushi and BlowFish1.

Then of course there was that restaurant on a street replete with Italian restaurants, along Josefov — the Jewish Quarter — where they had lobster à la catalana; of course, I couldn’t pass it up.

1 Link was originally but is no longer available, 4 July 2023.